Sun and Moon
by potatopersonal
Summary: If America was like the sun, then Russia was like the moon.


America was the sun, Russia believed. So bright and cheerful, lightens everyone up.

He was large and vast, America. He was needed. The sun warms the ground, brings life to the soil and plants and animals and _everything._ And just like the sun, America brings life. He creates opportunities and hope, a liveliness Russia couldn't ever muster. America was _beautiful_ , shimmering golden rays, a pleasant heat. If America was ever to go out, then just if the sun would, the world would be plunged into darkness. Everything would dissolve into utter chaos, just the bitter cold. America was so warm, warm, _warm_ , radiated a feeling of trust; you _knew_ you could trust him, his smile drawing you in.

Who didn't enjoy the sun? It provided food, heat, light. As the sun rose and set each day, it provided a vast array of colors, that blended with each other perfectly. Just like America, a mix of so many colors, a gleaming beacon in the distance. When clouds obscured the light, the world would grow dull. Colors once vibrant became limp and gray, joyful moods to utter devastation. Things well maintained would fall into disrepair.

Once the clouds moved past the sun, though, the world would light up once again. That's how Russia thought of America; when he was there, he would make everything so enjoyable, so happy and energetic and give a reason to actually enjoy life. When Russia was alone, everything would become a dull gray, a heavy air constantly pushing down on him. America could make him forget that he was in any pain, that he was exhausted, that he was _Russia_ and actually feel as though he mattered.

It was clear that the other nations thought of America as the sun too, in some way. It was all in the way they treated him. Yes, America could behave rather idiotically, and he had ridiculous plans during meetings, yet he was still held in high regard. The cheerfulness that America projected radiated onto the other nations, made them feel happy, no matter how upset they were.

It was a bit magical; the power America possessed.

Once, after a meeting, when Russia was extremely stressed due to other nations and his bosses, America had sat down next to him, and chattered away. It might seem as though that would just annoy Russia, but it was the complete opposite. America's voice wasn't harsh, but soothing, as he talked about subjects he enjoyed. How listening to talk about video games and greasy food was soothing, Russia wasn't sure. Still, it calmed him down to the point of nearly falling asleep.

America could calm down the other nations too. He could calm England, get him from screaming his head off to a vague anger.

...But while America was like the sun, Russia believed he himself was like the moon.

He didn't feel necessary; that's what the moon was like. The moon represented darkness; it represented the far away dreams you always had, but could never reach. To Russia, it represented loneliness, something he was extremely familiar with.

What purpose did the moon hold? It was constantly under control of the Earth's orbit; it had no power. It could only remain there, spinning and searching and wishing for all of eternity. There _was_ no purpose for the moon. Just like him. If the moon was gone, no one would care. If Russia was gone, no one would care. If Russia could have ended it all, he wouldn't be here today. He had no will to live; it had disappeared since the days of the Mongolian Empire. There was once a re-spark, once; Catherine the Great. Once she was gone, it was once again extinguished.

The moon was only ever seen from one side, as well. The mask Russia constantly put up, and the real Russia hidden behind the walls. Seldom was the other side ever seen, only with special scopes, close eyes. It was extremely difficult to find.

Not only that, but the moon was covered in craters. Craters were scars, scars that covered the moon from rocky top to bottom. It was a lie to say Russia wasn't scarred; no, it was far from that. With his history, Russia was covered in them. Still, the moon reminded him of impacts of memories that would always be there in his mind, constantly torturing him, constantly gaining more and more craters.

He was all alone. Surrounded by pinpricks of light he could never reach, could never feel the warmth of. Freezing, freezing, _freezing._

With no one.

* * *

America thought of himself and Russia like the sun and moon. If Russia was the moon, he was the sun.

He supposed he looked that way as well. His hair, with the golden color, and the cowlick as the rays. He was a bit round too, particularly around the middle. A bit to his annoyance. But hey, he was still a bright spot in the world, after all. He didn't want to sound _that_ self centered, or... what was that word Iggy had once called him?...? Oh, narcissistic.

Yes, perhaps he was a bit so, but hey, who could blame him.

Still, if he was the sun, that Russia was on the other side of the spectrum; the moon.

Quiet by nature, he was a force to be reckoned with. And although Russia might not view himself as necessary, the moon was important. Without the moon, who would control the tides? Without the moon, what would provide light in the dark? Without the moon, how could anyone _not_ notice?

His heart burned with a passion, a passion he couldn't hold inside of himself anymore. He needed the moon.

It was beautiful, beautiful, and it counteracted the sun. Russia counteracted America. It was a tragic beauty, though, for Russia was a tragic nation. A nation overcome with grief, Russia didn't view himself the way America had. How could he not seen the beauty in himself?

How could that be? Why was he the only one who saw the moon's beauty?

But he had more than once seen Russia's bosses berate him, blame him for any disasters, for any misfortunes to occur. It didn't matter if Russia's bosses _themselves_ had been responsible for any grievances; they would blame him anyway. Blamed and told it was all his fault for so many years, he must not have much self esteem. And hadn't Lithuania once said that Russia constantly asked him and the other Baltics if they were friends? Wasn't _that_ a sign of low self esteem?

But since America was the sun, couldn't he help Russia? Couldn't he give Russia the warmth and care that he clearly needed? Well, he could, but only if Russia would allow him. If only the other side of the moon was seen... If only America could reach that part of Russia that he so desperately hid...

The moon didn't deserve to be alone. Perhaps the sun could fix that. Perhaps America could fix Russia.

They were opposites, after all.

Hopefully, in the near distant future, they could join into a solar eclipse, a shining spectacle of beauty and grace.

Hopefully...

* * *

Here thy go, everybody! I hope you all enjoyed this story; I've had a bit of a writer's block with this one, but I managed to pull through after all. America's sections is a bit short, but... oh well.

Still, if you could tell me what you think, it would be much appreciated!

-Potato


End file.
